


Numb

by bethevibeyouseek



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethevibeyouseek/pseuds/bethevibeyouseek
Summary: Franky Doyle finally had the life she had always dreamed of. She had freedom, a hot girl, and happiness. All that was left to remind her of her tormented previous life was almost no feeling in her right hand.Takes place after S6E3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not a medical professional, so no clue if this would actually be something that could happen. It is fiction and the injury is for the plot-line of this story. 
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated.

The wounds had healed until eventually all that remained of was a bullet sized wound just below her collarbone. There was no more stinging pain that often caused her to flash back to the moment she’d been shot teetering on the edge of the wired fence.  
  
On impact it had caused all of the air to fly from Franky’s lungs. She fell backwards from the fence her eyes on the blue skies above her. She felt like she was drowning until she hit the dirt below her.  
  
No, she didn’t even feel the ache in the cold months of winter. She was totally free from any reminder of her years of absolute torment. She was happy, she got the girl, and she was free. All was perfect. All except for her right hand. Nerve damage left her almost completely unable to use it.  
  
Bridget had caught Franky trying to move the digits in the early hours of the morning. She’d always rise early, but enjoy the peace of the birds chirping from the window outside. Franky would stare down at her recovering hand and close them the few centimeters before they just...stopped. Franky was unable to hold objects firmly in her hand which made her much more fluid with her left now having to rely on it to do almost everything. Bridget could see the frustration painted on her brow when the digits did not complete the desired effect. It was as if she was trying to will it so strongly in her mind. Eventually she’d get discouraged, shaking her hand out and giving up for the day. 

The worst of it all was the pin-pricking sensation that cover her hand. It wasn’t painful, but it was certainly uncomfortable. It felt like her hand was constantly asleep, no matter how hard she tried to shake the feeling away.  
  
Bridget would sit facing on the couch with her back pressed against the armrest and massage the hand almost every night to loosen up the tight muscles. She’d press both of her thumbs into the center of her palm before continuing up each digit. Franky enjoyed the sweet touches, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this would be their evening for the rest of their lives. Would Bridget get tired of it? Of her?  
  
“What if I don’t get it back?” she whispered one evening, finally plucking up the courage.  
  
“Then we’ll manage.” She kissed the pads of her fingers individually before sliding closer to Franky draping her legs over the woman’s thighs and resting her head on Franky’s shoulder.  
  
“I’ll never be able to hold your hand.” Franky mused out loud. She felt defeated in that moment that she was not able to complete such a simple act of love. She craved the comfort of physical touch.  
  
“Not a big deal, you’ve got another hand Franky,” Bridget reminded her as she laced their hands together, giving her three reassuring squeezes as if to say, ‘I love you’.  
  
“You know what I mean, Gidge,” Franky sighed. Bridget used her free hand to force Franky’s eyes up to hers. Emerald and sapphire burned bright and on cue their pupils dialated.  
  
“I will love you no matter what. Haven’t we established this already after everything we’ve been through?” Franky paused, deep in thought.  
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” she nodded as she accepted the reassurance. Bridget leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. The position had become somewhat of a ritual for the couple. It was followed by a gentle kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy all this angsty goodness!

Franky hadn’t stepped in front of the stove during the months of her recovery, which meant for some pretty interesting dinners at the hands of her spunky blonde. Bridget was able to cook a select few things very well. What she lacked in creativity, she made up for in consistency. Franky appreciated attempts to mix things up, but the majority of those nights ended with them eating from take out containers. She couldn’t help but laugh at the ineptitude of the woman. Bridget was good at almost everything she did, except this. It should have driven the psychologist mad, but most of the time she just shrugged it off before disposing of the inedible meal into the bin. Franky could help but laugh with love in her eyes.  
  
After five months of so many different variations of tacos, Franky was itching to get back in the kitchen. She’d decided to start small, nothing that would require her to stir and hold the pan simultaneously. Even she knew better than to try her teriyaki shrimp stir-fry right out the gate. She did reminisce briefly on how she could she used to be able to toss two woks at the same time when she worked as a line cook in her former life.  
  
She settled on a simple dish of garlic chicken and red potatoes. It didn’t require any time over a cutting board. Franky didn’t need a knife wound to match the one on her shoulder, she decided. It was pretty basic cooking skills. Actually, she wasn’t even really sure she’d call the dish she had placed in the oven ‘cooking’.  
  
She was always so good at timing from years of practice. Her expert skills allowed her to plan for Bridget’s arrival home from work. Franky knew that Bridget loved to come home after a long day to the smell of another delicious meal. It didn’t matter how many times it had occurred, she still would voice her approval from the door where she would ditch her heels. Secretly, Franky revelled at Bridget’s words of appreciation. Early in their relationship, it was one of the only things Franky knew how to do to show her love. She was still working on using the words. Sure, she knew how to use intimacy, but Bridget deserved to feel appreciated outside of the bedroom as well. So cooking dinner had become Franky’s daily declaration of love to her.  
  
Franky busied herself with a book while she kept watch from the kitchen island nearby. The timer ticked down slowly as she waited. As it continued on, the garlic and herb blend she had used started to permeate through the open space of the home. She’d almost lost herself in an interesting part of her novel when the timer chirped signaling that the dish was ready. She quickly closed the book, and cracked the oven to check on her work. It looked and smelled heavenly. God, she’d missed this Behind her she could hear the familiar unlocking of the front door. Bridget was home right on schedule. Franky’s smile consumed her before she retrieved an oven mitt to pull the dish out.  
  
She must have slipped backwards in time. A time when she was able to quickly pinch dishes out with her hands and place them to cool on the waiting stovetop. Her peaceful time in the kitchen was ended by her lingering injury. Her hand slipped, and it sent the ceramic dish crashing to the floor.  
  
“Fuck!” She yelled observing the meal intermixed with shards of glass. It was beyond saving. Her frustration boiled upwards until it caused a lump to develop in her throat. She threw the oven mit onto the countertop, knocking over a few of the spice containers in its wake.  
  
“Baby! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Bridget rushed to the kitchen to investigate.  
  
“Don’t! There’s glass everywhere.” Franky snapped when she saw Bridget’s stocking-clad feet. The barefoot woman stopped just out of harm’s way.  
  
“What happened?” She asked taking in the state of the kitchen tiles. Franky slammed the oven closed and mashed the off button with her index finger.  
  
“My fucking hand!” She spat through her clenched jaw. She was practically seething with anger. Bridget knew that if she continued her rapidfire line of questioning, the brunette would likely start firing back. Her face was red and her chest heaved as sucked air into her lungs. She squeezed her eyes closed, and Bridget could almost hear her counting backwards in her head; a trick that had saved the former inmate many times. She let her palms rest against the countertop, her back tensed and her head hung low as she tried to calm herself down. She’d come so far from the woman she used to be, flying off the handle at the smallest of incidents.  
  
Bridget gave her space and went to grab the broom and dustpan from the closest. After slipping into her house shoes, she began to dispose of the meal and glass. When she turned back from dumping the mess into the bin, Franky’s tense shoulders had dissolved into shaking. She was crying silently.  
  
“Oh, Baby…” Bridget couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her arms around the hurting woman’s middle. She pressed herself against her back until there wasn’t any space between them. When she pressed her cheek against Franky’s back, she could hear her the labored breaths she tried to pull into her lungs.  
  
“I forgot,” she explained, trying to close her hand. On cue, it stopped just shy of the desired clenched position. How had it slipped her mind so easily?  
  
“It’s okay,” Bridget reassured her with a soothing whisper.  
  
“No it’s not. It’s not okay. How am I ever supposed to forget about what happened? I can cover up the scars, but how the hell am I ever going to forget with this?” she tossed a disgusted look towards the extremity who had betrayed her moments ago. Bridget placed her hands on Franky’s hips in order to turn her until they were face to face. Looking up, the blonde could see the torment on her partner’s face. Emerald eyes were trailing tears down her cheeks like branches of a river. For once in her life, the psychologist had no idea what to say. Instead she stood on her toes and hugged the woman close to her. She ran her palms over the quivering muscles in Franky’s back while she cried. She hoped the touch provided the woman with some comfort even when it seemed like her life was falling apart. When Franky’s tears had slowed, Bridget was able to speak.  
  
“If we forget about everything that has happened, we forget about us. We’d forget about the hell we have been through to get where we are. It’s you and me, Baby. It’s always going to be you and me.” The words washed over the fire pumping through Franky’s veins until all was quiet within them. Bridget held Franky’s face between her hands, using her thumbs to wipe away the evidence of her sorrow. Once she was finished, the taller woman leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. They stood wrapped in each other’s embrace, swaying back and forth like a dance. It was almost like time stood still when they were together.  
  
“So is it thai or chinese then?” Franky finally broke the silence and sent the couple into a fit of giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I feel like I have finally got my passion for Fridget back. I'm glad that I didn't give up even in some pretty dark times. I have such a deep love for this couple. Lord knows we need it now more than ever!


End file.
